


Lactose Intolerant

by cresserendipity



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: M/M, Single Parents, sakusa is a cute parent, ushijima overthinks a hell lot, what else is this fic but self-indulgent ushisaku?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-09
Updated: 2020-10-09
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:08:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26913418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cresserendipity/pseuds/cresserendipity
Summary: Ushijima Wakatoshi gives a random child popcorn and she ends up in the clinic.(It's not nearly as creepy at it sounds though.)
Relationships: Sakusa Kiyoomi/Ushijima Wakatoshi
Comments: 9
Kudos: 80





	Lactose Intolerant

**Author's Note:**

> This is based on that [video](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GO6qs83CHpc) of a child eating Prince Harry's popcorn during a baseball(?) game.

In hindsight, Sakusa should’ve tried harder to find someone to take care of Mikiyo so he could focus entirely on the game without a squirming child on his lap. But if he’s being completely honest with himself, he sort of, kind of, wanted to see if Mikiyo has an affinity for volleyball. Absurd, totally, and he’s never gonna admit that to anyone who’s brave enough to ask.

It’s the fifth and final set of the Japan versus Argentina match and Sakusa was looking so longingly at the court, thinking he should’ve been there playing instead of at the stands. He shook the thought away and looked down on her daughter, whose fists are covered in oil from the popcorn she’s eating.

He tried to gauge her reaction, see if there’s a familiar spark in her eyes from watching the game but she’s not even looking at the court. Mikiyo’s huge obsidian eyes were focused completely on her popcorn, holding a piece in each hand.

Maybe she’s too young. Yeah, probably, she’s only three years old after all. Sakusa could always try again next time, when she’s slightly older.

He focused on the game again as the set neared its climactic end, the teams just exchanging points and the crowd was screaming themselves hoarse. 

Mikiyo shoved two popcorn pieces in her mouth with both hands, chewing earnestly, unbothered by the noise inside the stadium and her father almost shaking beneath him. It’s her and the popcorn against the entire Ariake Arena. 

Except there’s no more popcorn. 

Mikiyo pouted and dug at the bottom of the tub, only to be met with smooth plastic slick with oil and salt that accumulated at the bottom along with unpopped kernels. She looked up at her father—busy watching the match. She looked beside her—a man also busy watching the match with a full popcorn tub on his lap.

It only took two seconds for her three-year-old brain to come up with a decision, was it a good decision? Who knows? Definitely not her. But was it a decision that resulted in her suddenly having a tub of cheesy popcorn to dig her small chubby fists into? Yes, it was.

So she swiped at the popcorn pieces, twice, thrice, countless times—nobody even noticed, everyone was focused on the funny-looking people on the court who kept jumping and chasing after a ball. They minded their own business and Mikiyo minded hers. Everyone was at peace.

The game was at a deuce when Ushijima Wakatoshi—the man beside Sakusa and Mikiyo—sighed and leaned back on his seat, only for his eye to catch Mikiyo’s wide eyes, mouth open and filled with cheesy popcorn— _his_ cheesy popcorn—with her arm outstretched and caught red-handed picking at his tub. 

They stared at each other, Ushijima blinked, Mikiyo blinked, and slowly, she sat straight up closing her mouth and chewing, pretending nothing had happened.

Ushijima chuckled quietly and inched his popcorn nearer to the side. He didn’t want to eat it anyway—too salty for his taste—better to give it to the child then, at least one of them was enjoying the game because Japan didn’t look like they’d pull through.

“Wha—” Sakusa jolted, taking a hold of Mikiyo’s hands which are covered in cheese dust and saliva. “Why are your hands orange?”

Mikiyo blinked up at her father innocently, cheeks bulging with unswallowed food. “Popcorn?” she asked.

“Yes, but we bought plain, where did you get—” And then he looked at their side, saw Ushijima’s tub leaning open towards his daughter. 

Their eyes met—black meets olive—and Sakusa didn’t know who looked more guilty, his daughter or the stranger. Two heartbeats of silence passed before Ushijima breathed out a laugh.

“I’m sorry, she looked hungry and hers was empty, so…”

“So you just fed my child?”

“Well… yeah?” Ushijima scratched the back of his neck, which was reddening by the second as he realized just how creepy it looked for him to give food to a young child. In his defense, she was taking _his_ food first, in fact he was being kind for giving her permission to. So really, he’s not at fault here.

Isn’t he? 

“My daughter is lactose intolerant,” Sakusa said, mouth in a thin line as he pulled out baby wipes from his bag and wiped at Mikiyo’s hands and cheeks, cleaning the evidence of the crime that just transpired.

“Oh…” Oops, there goes his confidence.

“Papa…” Mikiyo called.

“Yes?”

“My tummy feels weird…”

And there goes his conscience.

Sakusa cursed under his breath, looked at the court and the score—18-17 in favor of Argentina—and then to Mikiyo again, whose face was contorting uncomfortably. 

So maybe Ushijima should’ve not let a random child eat random food without letting their parents know… But who knew their small tummies are so sensitive? He once ate dirt as a child, his stomach didn’t even do anything so much as grumbled.

“Shi—” Sakusa stopped himself from completing the curse, as if Mikiyo wouldn’t hear and mimic it like every other word that comes out of her father’s mouth. “I didn’t bring your medicine.” He tilted Mikiyo’s chin up and looked her in the eye. “Sweetie, does it feel bad?”

Mikiyo’s face pinched as she thought about it. “A little.”

Another glance at the court—all 18—and a three-second internal debate where he asked himself if he could sacrifice Mikiyo’s discomfort long enough to watch the game end. Then two seconds more to beat himself up for even thinking about it.

Sakusa stood up, heaved Mikiyo against his hip and his bag on his shoulder.

“Hey, where are you going?” Ushijima blurted out. His conscience made him do it, don’t blame him.

“At the clinic, where else?” Sakusa was already inching his way out of the stands, grumbling a lot of ‘excuse me’s to the agitated audience.

So maybe Ushijima shouldn’t have stood up and ran after them, thought the father wouldn’t want to see his face again after nearly killing his daughter, but the good citizen in him thought it only right to see whether the child survives.

Oh god, what if she doesn’t?

* * *

“What are you doing here?” Sakusa scowled as they sat in the waiting room of the clinic inside the stadium.

“I wanted to make sure she’ll be okay…”

“It’s just lactose intolerance, she _will_ be okay.”

“Really?”

Sakusa looked at him suspiciously, from head to toe, analyzing whether he was actually a serial kidnapper hiding beneath a handsome face. He doesn’t look like it though, if he’s to judge based on his choice of clothes—a beige turtleneck that fitted his chest beautifully, a brown coat on top, dark jeans fitted enough to show his muscular thighs and slip on loafers.

“You seem oddly interested in my daughter…” Sakusa said, covering Mikiyo—who’s playing with a rubik’s cube—protectively on his lap like Ushijima’s suddenly gonna take her away.

“No! No… I’m not interested in her. I mean, she’s cute but I don’t like children.” Ushijima was quick to defend, waving his hands as a gesture of ‘no’. “I mean, not like I hate them or anything, I’m good with them—with her—but I’m just saying, I’m not a kidnapper or some, err, weird pedophile… if you’re worrying about that.”

A heartbeat of silence. Two heartbeats.

Ushijima wanted to run away and run off the face of the Earth, never come near children again in a one mile radius. Move to Australia—no, there are children in Australia. Maybe Italy, that sounded like an old-people-country. 

He’s gonna move to Italy.

“Okay, good, it’ll be a shame if I have to call the police on you. So, then, do you wanna take me out?”

… Or maybe not.

“Take you… out?”

Sakusa shrugged his shoulders. “As payment for making me miss the game and putting my child’s life in danger?”

So maybe feeding the child of your handsome seatmate at the Tokyo Olympics isn’t an entirely bad idea—try to choose someone without lactose intolerance though.

“Sure, I’ll take you out…”

* * *

**Author's Note:**

> Come talk to me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/kodzucress)!


End file.
